


You've always been, you'll always be.

by fvartoxin



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: If you haven't gathered from previous work this is an AU., It would be nice if I could work on my actual WIPs instead of starting new things., Not super happy with this one! Regardless it's nice just to be able to WRITE., Other, Past Abuse, Who thought it would be a good idea to leave them alone in a room? One wonders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:20:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23938303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fvartoxin/pseuds/fvartoxin
Summary: "When you find yourself aloneI'll just say 'I told you so'You've always been and you will always beNothing more than a memoryAnd nothing at all to me."- Black Sheep. Poor Man's PoisonThey're at least civil sometimes, hmm? Perhaps this raises more questions than it answers.
Relationships: Jonathan Crane/Hugo Strange, past Jonathan Crane/Hugo Strange
Kudos: 6





	You've always been, you'll always be.

For quite some time he was at a loss for words; although, if he was being honest with himself, the silence (broken only by his own shuddering breaths) was far more preferable to whatever chaos was currently being unleashed outside the asylum’s recreation room by Calendar Man and a few of the other inmates. His better eye cracked open, albeit barely, and he lifted his head from the lap it rested upon in order to meet the other’s gaze. Damned photophobia, damned artificial lighting. 

“ _Yes_? I’m not stopping you from speaking.” Fingers were untangled from graying hair at the sudden movement, and his eyes flickered over the former teacher’s too-tall, lanky form as he spoke. Sprawled half across the harder than rock, tattered (and disgustingly chartreuse) green couch, half across Hugo’s lower body, he couldn’t have been comfortable. But the geneticist wasn’t particularly one for sympathy. Still, certain things about their current predicament could have been (inaccurately) noted by a less knowledgeable mind. 

There were many things he could have asked, but whatever queries he’d left in him died in his throat one by one. The matters of _how_ and _why_ had been answered years ago, though not so much in spoken word as in violent, sexual touch, pointed gestures, and the tendency to take the word ‘backstabbing’ a tad _too_ literally on one’s part. Instead, Jonathan Crane settled for what answer he _could_ give. “All these years, and you still look the damn same.” Although a little grayer, given how the dye had begun to fade. “Like a snapshot.” 

“Perhaps by the time I’m dead I’ll look as though I’m 60, if nothing else,” he quipped wryly. 

Though he was drowsy the comment elicited a laugh, harsh and keen enough to (metaphorically, at the least) cut like a blade. “Somehow I doubt that.” Then, with a sharp exhale, his head dropped back into the other’s lap like a stone. 

He answered with a noncommittal hum, then coolly redirected the focus of conversation as his fingers threaded through silvering locks once again. “Have you considered buying a hairbrush?” 

“My memory may be patchy, but haven’t we had this exact conversation before?” At this resumed touch his open eye slid shut, and he suppressed a shiver of raw pleasure when Hugo’s fingers dug deep into his scalp; though not hard enough to draw blood. “’Least, could’ve sworn we did.” 

“Clearly you haven’t listened.” A sneer palpable through mere speech, then a hushed scoff. 

“Someday I’ll get ‘round to it,” he muttered, but they both knew damn well he never would. “Been busy enough as of late.” Yes, a man who now spent a fair portion of his time unconscious was ‘busy’. Another lie to add to the pile. How many had it been, in 10 years? In 20? 

“Oh, I don’t doubt that. And on an entirely different note…happy Father’s Day to you and your shortcomings, hm? Were we in any other situation, I might have even proposed a toast. Consider this moment in time a gift, if you prefer; despite our working relationship having changed in dynamic.” He’d be damned were he to plainly admit any form of lingering sentimentality. 

There was a hesitance in which his intake of oxygen visibly halted; then he pulled away, opening both eyes for the purpose of glaring daggers at the other. “Ha! Like you’ve ever given me anything without wanting something in return. Could hardly even borrow a damned pen back in the day. Y’know I can’t drink, anyhow,” he griped. “Other than that… _like hell I would_ , Hugo. Made my feelings damn clear some 20-so years back and they haven’t changed since then.” 

It’d been the same nerve he’d struck as before, but clearly the jab still held power. “Am I truly that easy to read? _I’m hurt_.” 

“Yeh _are_ indeed predictable.” With that having been said — and seeing how the sedative administered to him earlier seemed to finally be kicking in — he curled up on the far end of the couch as though a cat and lost himself in a weighted haze. 

Intriguing, how a series of repetitive, simple movements could cause a person to become almost putty in the hands of another. Still, if both their past dealings and what had occurred seconds ago were anything go to by, a brain-damaged and relatively placid Crane still had fire in his belly. This information was filed away for later as he turned his attention to the slightly askew door of the room. “Jonathan.”

“ _May as well go on with that thought_. Bit of a captive audience here anyhow.” And he too glanced towards the door. “Better fucking up my back on this damned couch than scrambling fer purchase out there.” Beyond the barrier something crashed to the ground. At this, he momentarily raised an eyebrow. “Hmm.” 

“How long do you think it will take for them to tear each other apart?”

He muttered something that even Hugo’s ears did not catch under his breath, then raised his voice as he continued to talk. “20 minutes at most. Less if Day’s made a deal with Dr. Isley or one of the other metahumans. On that same line of thought, you’d be surprised how often they fight over who gets to strut the proverbial catwalk on the Summer Solstice. Now, that _still_ ain’t even legally recognized as a holiday.” 

“As the years pass, I continue to find humanity’s fascination with holidays dull,” he sighed. “Yet, as Mr. Day will look for any convenient opportunity to wreak havoc, human beings will look for any reason they can to celebrate. How…tiresome.” Sure, carrot cake was good and all, but did they really need an entire _day_ dedicated to the foodstuff? National ‘Retro’ Day, as the youth called it, was also entirely asinine. The invention of the internet, coupled with the whims of bored people, had been both a blessing and a curse. 

“On the bright side, I take it no one forces you to sit through a birthday party anymore?” The grin accompanying this is nothing short of sickening, twisted in exactly all of the wrong ways and just _nearly_ meeting his damaged eyes. 

“Unless something’s changed in the interim, I believe we can both agree that solitude will always be preferable.” It was as much of an answer as it technically wasn’t. 

It sufficed, and the Scarecrow squinted up at the overhead lighting in silence.


End file.
